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Salient. Victoria University of Wellington Students' Newspaper. Vol. 32, No. 20. September 4, 1969

[introduction]

"As I was waiting for my plane which was to take me to an Oxford Union Debate at Otago University, an old man shuffled up to me and thrust this speech into my hand. 'Shaw lives,' he croaked, and disappeared infirmly into the crowd."-B.W.

• Barrie Watts

Barrie Watts

For some time now I have been feeling a little pain about New Zealand. In my approaching dotage, and as a certain sign of decay, I now know remorse for something I once said. Or, rather, what was Said I said, which is an entirely different thing altogether. It is widely believed that, in my destructive youth. I visited New Zealand and summed the place up in one supposedly apt and very vicious remark. I must now, alter all these years, confess that I didn't say what I am believed to have said, and as brilliantly worthy of me as it would have been had I said it. I wouldn't have said it anyway because I don't agree with the sentiment it implies.

The fact is, when I stepped ashore in Auckland I was met by the inevitable society matron, who attempted to gather me up in a twin-set and pearls embrace, and on failing to accomplish this unhygienic embrace, cooed at me with unerring typicality: "And What. Mr Shaw, do you think of New Zealand."

It must have been perfectly obvious to the dear soul, had she the brain to think about it, that I had spent no more than 10 seconds on her soil Somewhat taken aback, and at a loss for anything significant to say. I made a hasty utterance intended. I assure you, to convey only pleasantries

Unfortunately, the stupid woman misheard me completely probably because. I believe, her ears were encased in jowls upon which was propped an improbably huge string of pearls, thus obstructing her aural orifices.

This fatuous creature, when I had departed, went straightaway to the equally inevitable newspaper office, that organ of somnolent quietitude that represents-and often wipes—the blocked orifices of the world. And in the translation to a journalist, as near to verbatim as she could recall and he was capable of taking down, what I actually said and what I was ultimately Reported to have said became a grossly dislocated piece of historic memorabilia. I was alleged to have said my impression of New Zealand was "Altogether too many sheep." In fact what I Really said—in my desire to say something innocuous and pleasant—went, in context, like this: "I have as yet been unable to acquaint myself with the delights of your country, madam, and I would prefer not to do so while your arms are around my neck. If you would be good enough to stand back a trifle, thus allowing me something of the local panorama that your close presence at the moment excludes. I will be happy to make an observation." And when this was accomplished. I then looked around, saw what little there was to be seen, and said to her, in kindly and gentlemanly fashion— —and here, recorded for the first time, is what I actually said—"This seems a green and pleasant spot, madam, where one may loiter one's hours away in the company of good fellows and worthy beasts. We are all one in the eyes of the Lord, I have been told—we are all his lambs, and the country appears to haven for this living sentiment.

"Altogether, too many sheep this must he paradise enow."